Invulnerable
by Stratagem
Summary: Short stories about John and Clarice, and sometimes the rest of The Gifted crew.
1. Invulnerable

Disclaimer: I don't own The Gifted.

A/N: I accidentally started shipping John Proudstar/Thunderbird x Clarice Fong/Blink the instant they shared eye contact, so I literally cannot help myself. It was ship at first sight. So prepare for lots of Thunderblink ficlets.

* * *

 **Invulnerable**

John is indestructible, but he's not invulnerable.

Clarice doesn't think he notices, but she's watching him when one of the Underground kids comes running into the infirmary, her knee all skinned up and tears streaming down her face. The kid can't be more than five, but she's like Blink, a mutant who can't blend in, not with her violet skin, striped pink hair, and blue cat's eyes. Massive butterfly wings flutter against her back as she dashes right up to John, colliding with his legs.

"I'm bleedin'," she says with a little Southern accent, sticking her leg out like John can't tell on his own which knee she tore up. Clarice can see her trying to suck in the tears and steady her wobbling lower lip. "I need a bandaid, can I have one?"

John picks her up, careful of the wings, and sets her down on a table. "What happened, Riley?"

"Me and Ty were playing down…inside…and I fell."

"Mhmm." Something that's a mix between disapproval and amusement crosses John's face. "Your pants legs are wet, and you smell like the creek. Are you sure you were inside?"

"Maybe not." The kid, Riley, winces when John dabs a wet cloth against her leg.

"You know you're not supposed to play down at the water unless someone's with you," he says, firm but gentle. Clarice has noticed he does that sometimes, the gentle but firm thing. She sort of likes it.

"We can't play in the clubhouse cause it got portalized," she says, and suddenly she sneaks a look over at Clarice. Before they make eye contact, Clarice closes her eyes, feigning sleep.

"You're not mad at her, right?" John's voice asks, "You know she didn't mean to."

"Nah," Riley says, "I know. I do stuff on accident too."

"And on purpose."

A giggle splits the air, and Clarice squints one eye open to see John tickle the kid again. She resists the urge to smile because man, he's not nearly as intimating as he seems at first.

He holds up two band-aids. "Important question. Pokémon or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?"

"Where's the Hello Kitty ones?"

"You used them up last week."

"Oh…Pokémon!"

John sticks a couple band-aids on the scraped knee and then raises an eyebrow at Riley. "Stay away from the creek, got it? I'll take you and Ty down there tomorrow if you behave."

The kid grins. "Okay!"

John sets her back on the ground and ruffles her hair before giving her a little push toward the door.

Yeah, see, John's practically indestructible but he's not invulnerable. His weakness is the people he loves and how much he does actually care about them. His vulnerabilities are ones that Clarice can hardly understand, she's been on her own so long. She doesn't have people. Not people like that, not anymore.

She feels eyes on her, and she knows who is looking at her even before she turns toward him. He smirks and nods to her before heading out, following Riley.

She doesn't want that vulnerability. She's fine the way she is.

It's better to be invulnerable than indestructible.


	2. Clean-Up Crew

Disclaimer: I don't own The Gifted.

A/N: More Thunderblink stuff. Still taking place after episode 2. Clarice doesn't actually show up here, but John thinks about her a lot.

* * *

Clean-Up Crew

"We officially live in a dump."

"At least we live _somewhere_."

"Hey, and now we have skylights. That's something. Always wanted one of those, my parents never let me get one. Now I have like, I dunno, twenty."

John ignored the others and lifted yet another pine tree branch out of the HQ's makeshift library. Somehow one of Clarice's portals had torn off the tops of at least five pine trees and dropped them all in the library. One of the comfy, well-worn couches was half-gone, and there was a five-foot wide hole in one wall. That woman was insanely powerful, even if she didn't realize it yet.

They could work on that.

John chunked the massive branch out of the hole and wondered yet again how much more tarp and duct tape they had. There was no way they could patch all these holes with what they had left. He was probably going to have to go on a supply run anyways, seeing how they were scraping the barrel when it came to their medical supplies. The whole portal incident had caused a few injuries, and then clean-up was an adventure in splinters, cuts, and sprained muscles, and if you added in the normal wear and tear that came from people learning to control their powers… Well, he would just plan on that supply run.

Over in the corner, their self-appointed resident librarian Colette was drying out books with a hairdryer, looking rather peeved about the whole incident. Pages fluttered pitifully, and she huffed, her eyes flicking to John for an irritated second. He knew that she wanted to say something, to complain, but she was keeping a lid on her frustration.

While he didn't mind if people fussed some to him, there was an embargo on mentioning anything about the damage to Clarice. It wasn't really her fault, and he had made that clear to every person who lived in the HQ. Clarice had saved him, Marcos, the Strucker kids, and Caitlin from getting snatched by the Sentinels, and he would blame himself rather than her for this mess. He was the one who had urged her to use her portals, anyways.

However, just because no one was allowed to grumble to Clarice about the damage, that didn't mean they didn't talk about it all. Especially because they had to put the HQ back together.

"Hey, watch it!"

John turned around to see one of the pine tree tops wavering in the air, supported by nothing but Ethan's wobbling telekinetic ability. He had grazed Opal with a limb, and she looked less than pleased judging by how her nails had gone all metallic and sharp.

"Ethan…" John warned, already raising his hands in case he had to grab the branch. The telekinetic had spent most of his teenage years refusing to use his powers thanks to his parents' disapproval, so he wasn't particularly skilled.

"I got it, I got it," the nineteen-year-old said. The tree top bobbed over to the hole, Ethan following behind it. John was aware of Colette moving even before she appeared at his elbow, eyes blazing.

"Ethan Timothy Schmatz, if you drop that tree and make a hole in the floor—"

"I'll catch it," John said, putting a calming hand on her arm.

"Mmm." Colette rolled her eyes.

The tree top made it out of the room, and Ethan gave Colette a smug grin before he went back to cleaning up. John would have to tell him that there were better ways to show off for the girl you liked.

After the library was relatively clear of debris, John headed out, moving onto the next project. After that, he would go check the medical supplies and look in on Clarice. She was still in the infirmary, healing up. Maybe he'd ask her if she'd like something special when he went out for the supply run. But, wait, knowing her, she wouldn't tell him straight up… Okay, he would get Marcos or Caitlin or someone else to ask her what she would like.

Then he'd make sure to get it if he could and pretend it was an accident.

That'd work.


	3. Nightmares

Disclaimer: I don't own The Gifted!

A/N: I love Thunderblink, and I am sold on this ship. Also, I fully believe in the idea that John truly cares about everyone in the Mutant Underground. A LOT. Great leader guy.

* * *

 **Nightmares**

It's her first night out of the infirmary, but Clarice can't sleep. It's not like she has a roommate to keep her awake or anything, she has a room to herself, but the nightmares are back. They've been worse ever since she got sick. Sometimes she's trapped, white walls closing in on her, crushing her limbs, pressing her to the floor, a collar tightening around her neck. Sometimes she's back on the streets, her portals flickering out, useless as she runs from the shadows behind her.

The nightmares chase her out of bed and into the hall. Zingo follows her, close on her heels, her warm, fluffy presence making Clarice feel a little better, a little calmer. The dog had jumped onto the mattress when she went to bed that evening, but even the pup couldn't keep the nightmares away. Still, she liked the company. Dogs are great like that, they love you no matter if you have purple hair, crazy green eyes, and pink marks and happened to cut their favorite toy in half. Which, you know, means dogs are about a thousand times better than humans.

No wonder the Mutant Underground has its very own dog.

She walks around the halls of the HQ and finds herself in one of the common areas. Everyone else is asleep or at least in their rooms, so she has the place to herself. Picking one of the comfiest couches that's near a window, she flops down onto the cushions. Moonlight plays on her skin as Zingo hops up beside her, pressing against her side, her chin on Clarice's lap.

She's not a stranger to sleepless nights, but at least she's safe here. It's not a dark alley or a cell or under a bridge. Dust motes twirl in the moonlight, and she waves her hand, tossing them into a wild dance. She pets Zingo and closes her eyes, resting but not sleeping.

A noise catches her attention as someone steps into the common area, and Zingo's ears perk up. Clarice sits up, her body protesting. She's still sore from the other day, but she moves through it, not wanting to be caught sprawled out on the couch by another late-night wanderer. She's ready for when she'll get asked about why she's still awake, ready to retort that it's really none of their business.

She's surprised when she sees that it's one of the kids, the girl with butterfly wings. Riley? Yeah, Riley. The one John has a true soft spot for. She's in PJ shorts and a tank top, slits cut in the back of the shirt so her wings can fit through.

"Hey, kid, you should be in bed. Aren't you afraid of the dark?" Clarice says, relaxing a little. Kids aren't as bad as adults.

But Riley doesn't respond. Zingo whines and jumps off the couch, trotting over to the little girl. Clarice frowns and stands up, watching Riley. The girl's dark eyes are unfocused and she's moving slowly, lethargic.

"Kid?" Clarice says, walking toward the girl, "You okay?"

She reaches for Riley's shoulder, but a hand wraps around her elbow and pulls her back. Clarice tries to whip around, prepared to fight, but then she realizes who grabbed her and stops. It would break her hand if she hit him anyways.

"Don't," John whispers, so close that his breath brushes her ear, "You'll wake her up."

"Are you part cat or something?" she whispers back, "I didn't even hear you."

"No, I'm a tracker, which is much better," he says and then lets her go. He held her longer than he needed to, but Clarice doesn't call him out on it.

"What's wrong with her?" she asks as they both follow Riley. Zingo goes with them, right between her and John.

"She sleepwalks. She doesn't do it as much anymore, but sometimes—"

Riley veers toward the stairs, and Zingo heads her off, the dog getting between the kid and the steps. Riley's wings flick halfway out as she bumps into the dog, and she blinks, an awareness chasing the fog out of her eyes. She gasps, looking around rapidly, but John's kneeling in front of her a second later, his hands on her cheeks, keeping her eyes on him, focusing her.

"Hey, you're all right," he said, his voice soft and calm, "You're okay."

She gasps again, like she can't catch her breath. "They were yellin'— They said I was bad—"

"Riley, look at me. It was a bad dream, kiddo, I promise."

"I don't wanna go back," she says, trembling, her wings shaking, "Don't make me go, please, please, John."

"You're not going anywhere," John says, and she drops against him, still shaking. He stands up, the kid balanced on his hip as he holds her. He meets Clarice's eyes and nods toward the couches, silently welcoming her to come with him. She's not going to sleep any time soon, and now she's worried about the kid, too, imagine that, so she decides it won't hurt to tag along.

John sits on one end of a couch and Clarice claims the other end, tucking herself into the corner. Zingo lays down on the rug, still whining softly. There are blankets draped across the back of the couch, and John grabs two. He tosses one to Clarice and it lands on her bare feet where she leaves it for now. The other he uses to wrap around Riley. Her wings are folded tight to her back now, but Clarice wonders how they work. If they were really like butterfly wings, wouldn't the dust rub off of them?

They're all quiet, and eventually Riley relaxes, her breathing evening out and her head falling onto John's shoulder as she goes back to sleep. Clarice picks up the blanket from her feet and drapes it over her legs as she curls more into the couch.

"She's a firestarter. That's why I didn't want you to wake her up."

Clarice straightens, surprised. She hadn't heard that yet, she just thought that Riley's mutations were her looks.

"She gets disoriented if you wake her up, and she's caught the HQ on fire before." John says softly, looking at her over Riley's head. "She doesn't have much control yet."

"Is that why you keep buckets and extinguishers everywhere?" She's noticed them, how could you not. They're hidden, but they're tucked all over the place.

John gives a wry smile. "One of the reasons. Marcos is another one. And there are a few more."

"Super safe operation you're running here." She doesn't know why she says that, why she takes that jab at him. Wait, no, she does know. It's a defense mechanism against the smile and how it presses against her walls.

John, however, doesn't take the bait. "We do what we can."

They're both silent for a while, and Clarice reaches down and starts petting Zingo again. She looks at Riley as she sleeps in John's arms, nestled close against him. Her wings are poking over the top of the blanket, and Clarice studies the colors, pink and black, like Riley's hair. There are white spots and highlights too. They're beautiful.

"They're not actually like butterfly wings."

Clarice flicks her eyes to John, wondering if he's telepathic on top of everything else. But no, he probably just caught her staring. She doesn't say anything since that would be admitting he caught her.

"They're more like bat wings," he says, and shifts the blanket so that more of Riley's wings are exposed. "She won't mind if you touch one. She's proud of them now."

Which meant that at some point she wasn't. Clarice hesitates, but she's also terribly curious. The curiosity wins out and she unfolds from her corner, reaching out to brush a finger against the girl's wings. They are _so_ soft, like touching a baby rabbit's short fur, and now she can see the bone structure under the wings. The coloring and shape is like a butterfly's but John's right, they're different.

"Where was she before here?" Clarice asks. It's a rude question, one she wouldn't ask if she wasn't so tired and if the kid was actually awake. But she's sleepy and wondering, and he's there. Might as well ask.

"Me, Marcos and Lorna found her in a county fair side show," John said, the words edged with a bad memory, "Her parents sold her off. It happens sometimes with the kids." He glances at her and shuts up, probably because he realizes that she already knows that. She was one of _those_ kids. "She's been here for about a year."

"Really?" Clarice's eyebrows arch. "I thought you brought people in then sent them out."

"Most of the time, yeah," John says, "But then there are people who are harder to place."

Or harder to let go of. John is probably being overprotective, but maybe that's what the kid needs, someone to look out for her.

"You going to bed any time soon?" he asks.

"Nah," she says, "I'll let you keep me company."

He snorts. "Do you want me to say I'm honored?"

"You should be."

John smothers a laugh with his hand and readjusts, putting his legs up on the couch beside Clarice's. He looks at her like he expects her to say something, but she doesn't. So what if their legs would be touching if it wasn't for the blanket. Doesn't matter.

After a while, John nods off, Riley curled up against him like a kitten. Clarice watches them, watches a lock of John's hair fall in his face, his head resting against Riley's, a steady protective presence. It must be like having a Grizzly bear as a guardian. Clarice takes her blanket and spreads it across John's legs too, just in case Mr. Indestructible actually gets cold.

That's how Marcos finds all three of them in the morning, crashed out on the couch as HQ starts to wake up around them.


	4. Something's Wrong

Disclaimer: I don't own The Gifted.

A/N: AHHHH, that last episode though! Man I love this ship. And I'm very annoyed with Dreamer. That wasn't the best choice she could have made, and it's definitely going to have long term repercussions. But I do think the Thunderblink ship will sail under its own power soon enough.

This is set during the end of S1E3, and it's John's POV.

* * *

 **Something's Wrong**

John knows something is wrong the moment he sees that portal. It shouldn't _be_ there. Clarice isn't at that level yet, not with her warm jelly donut sense of focus. Out beside the portal, he sees a flash of autumn leaf red, Dreamer's hair, and his gut twists even more because that means she's there and Clarice is there at the same time and Sonia has a bad habit of doing drastic things—

He knows something's up, something isn't right, but he can't think about that now. He's busy driving, busy getting shot at, and while he can't really get hurt by a few bullets (he'll bruise a little, maybe), everyone else in the SUV can. One stray bullet, and it's going to be Marcos or the kids or Caitlin bleeding out in this ratty old car, so he takes a chance on the portal that shouldn't be in the middle of the road.

The SUV skids to safety, and he gets out, leaving the Struckers to Marcos as he goes to find out exactly what's going on.

Both Clarice and Sonia are running toward him, but Clarice is out in front and there's something new and unfamiliar in her bright eyes. It's a warmth that he could have sworn he saw a glimpse of earlier, but now it's full-blown and it _shouldn't_ be there, not like that. Just like that portal.

He's starting to understand as the adrenaline dies down, now that he isn't worried about people dying. But he can't stop himself from opening his arms to her as she races up to him and leaps at him, knowing he'll catch her when before she would have been skittish, uncertain. That trust unsettles him because it's so unlike her.

Part of him wants this. He would be lying if he tried to say he didn't, but not this way. Never like this. Because as Clarice hugs him, arms tight around him like she was afraid of losing him, he can smell Dreamer's memory smoke lingering in her hair, beneath the honey scent of the shampoo Clarice used. He holds her too, lost for a split second in a could-have-been, is-this-real, a half-formed I-wish, but even as he holds her, realization is rushing in. He runs his hand in a circle against her back.

This isn't Clarice. This is Dreamer. This is Dreamer looking at him with Clarice's eyes.

He doesn't know what to say as she looks at him with excitement and trust and that thing he doesn't want to name. He doesn't want to break her and he doesn't know what to do, so he lets her go inside without telling her.

And then there's Sonia. Sonia with an excuse and a reason, but he told her not to do this. Not to Clarice. Not when Dreamer knew that this kind of thing could mess a person up.

He lets Dreamer leave too because honestly he doesn't want to talk to her anymore right now. He's grateful that he's not dead, but he doesn't agree with what she did. This is a mess.

John takes a deep breath, focusing on the smell of the Georgia pines and the last bit of summer in the air. He tries to calm himself, but all he can think of is the way Clarice looked at him so he follows the others inside.

This isn't how he wanted this to happen.

But things never work out the way he wants them to, so why should this be any different?


	5. It's Broken

Disclaimer: I don't own The Gifted!

A/N: Post S1E3!

* * *

 **It's Broken**

John stops on the landing of the stairs, looking down into the common area of the Mutant Underground HQ. It's after sunset, and people are spread out around the HQ, winding down from the long day and the unexpected excitement.

The Strucker kids are sprawled out on a couple couches, Lauren reading a tattered copy of _Watership Down_ while Andy messes with some magnets. Those were Lorna's, a small collection that she used to sit there and play with on evenings like this. She would send them flying around the room, darting them into small spaces and back out again, perfecting her skills. Maybe Andy can use them for now until she gets back, practice breaking things apart by focusing on pulling apart the magnetic connection.

Lorna wouldn't mind.

Caitlin isn't far away from her kids, but she's reading something on one of the few tablets that the Underground has. John hopes she's reading up on the few articles that are out there about mutant medicine. He won't lie, they could use a medic around here. That doctor over in Decatur is good, but he's far away from HQ, which doesn't work for emergencies like they had with Clarice.

Speaking of Clarice, she's not in the common area. He's not sure where she's gotten off to, but Zingo is missing too. Maybe they're off together. He hopes she's okay…they still haven't talked about what Dreamer did. They need to, he knows they do, but he assumes that Sonia will tell her. She will…won't she?

John leans on the banister, fingers tightening on the railing. Five-year-old Riley is sitting in Dreamer's lap, playing with her bright red hair, trying to braid it but instead turning it into a thick tangled mess. This is a normal scene, it's common, but now something clicks in the back of John's mind. Something he has been wondering about for a while but told himself it was stupid. That Sonia wouldn't do that, not when he told her not to, but…

He thinks about Clarice, about the strange trusting look in her eyes, about how Sonia had tried to excuse it. About how Sonia did the exact opposite of what he asked her to do. He thinks about Riley's sleepwalking habit and how it had suddenly gone away only to come back recently.

"Riley," he says, his voice cutting across the common area, "Come here." It's not really a request, it's an order, and everyone knows it. Riley tenses and looks up at him with wide eyes, and he regrets the tone. He's not angry at her, but he can tell she thinks he is. But behind her, Sonia loops an arm around the girl, holding her in a quick tight hug, meeting John's eyes. She already knows why he wants to get Riley away from her.

"Please," John says, gentler, as he looks at Riley. As she wriggles out of Sonia's hold, John frowns at Dreamer. She frowns back.

John turns his attention to the five-year-old as she hurries up the stairs, her wings fluttering with worry.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asks, one hand looping around a stair bannister. Her gaze darts to the railing John is clenching and her eyebrows jump up her forehead. "You're breaking it."

John instantly lets go and silently curses himself and the cracks in the wood that hadn't been there a minute ago. He hasn't broken something like that in a long time, he's always so careful. John sighs, his head hanging forward. He's not himself tonight. He's shaken. There's a lot going on lately, and he misses Lorna, his partner in leading this whole thing. Marcos is too focused on saving Lorna to step into her spot, Sonia isn't…she's not the leader type. Sage doesn't want to lead, neither does Shatter. Without Lorna, John is trying to keep this place together the best he can on his own, and he's worried he's not doing it right. Maybe he's screwing up.

Every time he tells someone to do something, they do the opposite. Great leadership right there. Lots of respect.

A small hand slips into his, and Riley's tiny fingers squeeze his. "It's okay. It's not bad." She's leaning forward, poking at the railing with her other hand. Her smile is quick and sweet and hesitant as she gives his hand another squeeze. "It's not bad," she says again, obviously wanting to comfort him. Even after seeing him splinter the hardwood railing, she not afraid of his strength. "Are you mad?"

John brushes his hand over Riley's hair. "Not at you."

"You okay, Johnny?"

Sonia puts one foot on the landing and stops. Without realizing what he's doing, Johnny takes a step forward, putting himself between Sonia and Riley. It's an unconscious movement, but it says exactly what he wants to tell her.

He glances back over his shoulder at Riley, who is watching the two of them, her dark eyes confused. She can tell something has changed, that it's not the same anymore.

"Time to go get ready for bed, kiddo."

Normally she might put up a fuss, but she nods. "Can someone tell me a story?" she asks both of them, dark eyes flicking from one to the other.

"I will later," John says, looking at Sonia.

Riley's wings pull in tight, tucking around her like a cloak. She does that when she's upset. She hugs John's side and then takes off, heading for the room she and couple other kids share.

Sonia steps onto the landing and gets close, too close for him at the moment. "What was that about?"

He nods up the stairs, and they move away from the others, ducking into an alcove. They need to have a discussion, right now, but he doesn't want to embarrass her in front of everyone by confronting her in the common area. He crosses his arms over his chest before locking eyes with her. "Did you use your ability on Riley? Is that why she stopped sleepwalking?" She's silent for too long, and John sucks in a breath. He doesn't clench his fists, but his jaw tightens. "Damn it, Sonia. You said you wouldn't."

"She wasn't sleeping!" Sonia hisses, her eyes narrowed, "Those nightmares…it wasn't fair, Johnny."

John holds up a hand. "That wasn't your choice to make. We agreed that it would be better for her to get past it naturally. We _all_ did." The two of them, Marcos, Lorna, Sage, a few others. It had been a team meeting on how to help Riley, and Sage had said the odds were better for Riley in the long run if she got past it without Sonia's help.

And Sonia had gone against all of that.

"She's just a little girl, and I wasn't going to let her just suffer like that," Sonia said, her eyes blazing, "She was _so_ tired, you remember."

He did. He remembered Riley falling asleep in the middle of the day, dark circles under her eyes, her tired stare. He remembered scooping her up and walking the then four-year-old around the HQ, trying to get her to sleep without nightmares. He had been up with her so often, trying to steer her back to bed, trying to keep her calm…He had hoped that she was getting better. It had seemed like she was.

"I knew I could fix it. I just gave her a few dreams every now and then, just little things. It didn't hurt her."

"It was temporary," John said, shaking his head, "It was never going to work forever."

"I knew that," Sonia said, "But it helped her to sleep again."

"For a while." John rubs a hand over his mouth, lost for words again. "Have you done it to me?"

"What?" Sonia looks wounded, like he had hit her. "Johnny. Of course not."

He nods, suddenly tired. So tired. He doesn't know whether to believe her or not. He wants to believe her.

But Clarice's face flashes in his mind. Snarky Clarice with her trust issues suddenly rushing into his arms…

He wants to believe Sonia. Part of him still cares for her, still feels _something_. That's been there too long not to feel anything. But he's not sure if he can trust her anymore.

He walks away.

The railing isn't the only thing that's broken.


	6. Sanity

Disclaimer: I don't own the Gifted!

A/N: Ahhh, that was such a good episode! I loved it to pieces.

* * *

 **Sanity**

It's lucky that the old condemned bank is so big.

It means there's enough room for everyone, for all of the new people who are hiding out from Sentinel Services. Still, it's a little crammed, way more packed than usual. They ran out of cots quick. There are people all over the place, crashed out on pallets and couches, curled up in sleeping bags and old ratty blankets. Families have claimed corners and hallways and rooms that still have holes in them from when Clarice was sick and cutting holes in the place. They set up wherever they can.

There are still people showing up. The Sentinel Services aren't letting up on Atlanta and the nearby suburbs and towns. That net that Reed mentioned is getting tighter, but there's a chance they might slip through it.

There's also a chance they won't.

John can't sleep. He's too busy planning, preparing for the worst. He knows he needs to catch at least a couple hours of rest tonight, but it's only one in the morning. It's early. Besides, there are more people to call, others to check on to make sure they're safe.

He's going down the list that Sage jotted out for him, contacting everyone who she noticed wasn't there, wasn't safe. Some people aren't answering. He doesn't know what he can do for them right now except hope that they're okay.

Not that HQ is necessarily even safe anymore. It might only be a matter of time before Sentinel Services grabs someone who knows where it is and can lead them there. They're going to need physical defenses, back-ups, contingency plans. And all of these people… They can't move anyone out. No one can go anywhere, no without catching the attention of the local authorities and after that Sentinel Services.

On top of that, he can't stop thinking about Gus. His best friend. Back from the dead and working for Sentinel Services. But that isn't right, Gus wouldn't do that, there was no way that the man he had run into war with would change that much. And how is he alive? John knows he saw him get shot, saw him go down outside of that relocation center. He remembers that helpless feeling, knowing he couldn't go get Gus, that it wouldn't make a difference. And now he's back.

He left Gus behind. If Gus is alive, that means that John abandoned him back there, that John left him to die. And John now has to live with that. It's a growing pit in his stomach, one that he can dwell on now that he's not in a life and death situation.

John leans forward to put his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands for a moment, his fingers sliding into his hair. There's so much to think about, so much to sort out.

Something soft brushes against his leg, and he glances down to see Zingo. The dog bumps against him again, rubbing her head against his leg. He hadn't even noticed her wander in, which spoke volumes about how distracted he was.

"Hey," he says, reaching down and scratching behind the mutt's ears, "Too crowded for you?" Zingo likes people, but there are a few more folks than she's used to. She butts her head against his hand, demanding more petting. "Go find Lorna. She's home." Which is something to be grateful about. He's glad to have her back, more than she'll ever know. He needs her help to keep this place running, he doesn't want to do it alone.

Zingo doesn't go. She plops down beside his chair and licks his hand insistently.

"Okay. Okay." John gets out of his chair and sits on the floor, letting the dog crawl into his lap. She drops down against him, her chin landing on his knee.

"Spoiled," he says, but he ruffles her ears, grateful for her fluffy warmth. She huffs and turns, driving her head into his stomach, affectionate and loving. For a moment he's just a guy playing with his dog, and for a split second, he lets all of his worries go. He lets himself pretend in that second that there's not a war at his doorstep and a hundred people relying on him and a rescue mission to plan. Maybe it's selfish, but for that second, he pretends that his life isn't chaos. It's not for any longer than a breath, but it gives him the break he needed.

Zingo slides off his lap and sits up, putting her paws on his legs, almost like she's comforting him. He had been against keeping her when Marcos had brought the scruffy puppy to the HQ, but now he's glad she's around.

"Thanks, girl," he says, rubbing her head against before he gets up and goes back to his list.

Everyone needs a dog, he decides. For their own sanity.


	7. Rations

Disclaimer: I don't own The Gifted!

A/N: I have been sort of on the fence about writing in-canon-ish stuff lately, but I think I'm ready for it again. Post 1x06.

* * *

Rations

A little hand appeared on the other side of John's desk, a granola bar held by the light purple fingers. He raised his eyebrows, watching as the hand put the granola bar on the desk and then poked it forward, scooting it toward him.

John had heard Riley sneak into his pseudo-office, and he had caught sight of her bright wings before she ducked down behind the front of his desk. He had been meaning to talk to her all day, just to see how she was. He knew that the influx of new people was probably overwhelming for her, so he had wanted to check on her.

"You didn't eat dinner."

"I did, too." He had, hadn't he? Or was that lunch? There has been a spaghetti MRE at some point today, though he couldn't remember exactly when. Oh well, he had eaten, that's what mattered.

"Sage said you didn't," scolded Riley's voice. She got up, appearing on the other side of his desk, her hands grabbing the old wood. "You gotta eat."

"Sage told you I didn't have dinner?" John reached over and picked up the granola bar, tilting his head to the side.

"Not really," she said with a shrug, her huge pink and black butterfly wings bobbing and fluttering before she folded them against her back. "I heard her say it to Lorna."

"Is this from your snack?" he asked, holding up the granola bar.

The stubborn set of her jaw told him it was even though she didn't say yes.

"Kiddo, it's nice of you to share, but you need to eat, too." Riley ate more than most kids her age, mostly because of the energy she used up with her wings and her powers. Snacks were common for her. He put the granola bar on the desk and pushed it back over to her.

Riley grabbed to and slid it towards him. "I don't want it."

"Come on, Riley, I bet you're hungry," he said, sending it back her way.

"Nope."

It rolled over to his side, and John gave a short, unexpected laugh. For the next minute, they slid the granola bar back and forth across his desk, the slippery plastic wrapping making it a perfect hockey puck. Finally Riley snatched it up and dashed around the edge of the desk, putting it firmly in front of him.

She pointed a finger at him. "You eat it, it's yours now."

Rolling his eyes, John swiped her up and sat her on his desk so they were a little more eye level. She immediately pulled her legs up and sat criss-cross. "I can get my own, you know."

"No, we don't got that much, you can have mine," she said, looking away from him. She picked up a pen from his desk and rolled it between her hands. "I don't want it."

John frowned. "What do you mean, we don't have that much?"

She shrugged, looking around at the papers on his desk. Everything that was currently out was info related to Gus and whatever program the government had him in. He opened a drawer, grabbed a piece of scrap paper, and put it down for her. Smiling a little, she started doodling, drawing circles and swirls.

"Did someone say something about food?" he asked, picking up another pen. He started drawing lines, bisecting some of her circles.

She nodded. "New people. They said we'd run out of food soon." She traced loops along one of the lines he had scratched out. "I didn't want you to be hungry."

"I won't be," he said, "Now look at me." Dark brown eyes met his and he held her gaze. "You're not going to go hungry either, okay? I swear, Riles." Back before Riley had been rescued, one of her punishments for misbehaving had been having multiple meals taken away from her. John would starve himself before seeing her go hungry.

Riley nodded and went back to drawing. "You still gotta eat that."

"You're so hardheaded," John said warmly, but he picked up the granola bar anyways. He ripped open the wrapping and split it in half. "We'll share it."

She made a face but took the half he offered her. Nibbling on the granola bar, she kept drawing on the paper though now she was drawing a dog. She scrawled a sad look on its lopsided face and little tear specks down one cheek.

"Is that Zingo?" John asked, looking at the dog.

"Yep."

"Why's she crying?"

"'Cause Clarice went away."

Oh. John sat back in his chair, suddenly very uninterested in eating the rest of the granola bar. His mind flashed to that image of papers floating in an empty hall, his fist denting the reinforced vault door. The helpless, gutted feeling because he hadn't got out that damn door fast enough to catch her. The regret that had settled onto his shoulders, pushing him farther down.

If he had just told her, if he had been honest with her…things could've been different. And now she was out there alone, with Sentinel Services crawling all over the city.

"Zingo likes Clarice best now, so she's sad," Riley was saying, drawing the dog's legs and tail, "She wouldn't play with me."

"I'm sorry about that," John said. He raked his fingers through his hair and looked up at the ceiling. "That was my fault."

Riley's head jerked up. "Huh?"

"I… I lied to Clarice about something. I kept something from her."

"That wasn't nice," Riley said, frowning at him.

"Yeah, it wasn't. So she left, and that's on me."

Riley looked at him for a long moment and her wings stretched and flicked out, betraying her agitation. She didn't like lies or people being mean to each other. But then her wings settled down and she went back to drawing. "Did you say you were really sorry?"

"Not enough," John said, looking down, thinking. "I should've said it differently. I tried but…I didn't say it right." It hadn't been enough considering what he and Sonia had done to her, it had been so wrong. But yeah, he really couldn't do anything right lately. He kept screwing up.

A gentle touch on his head made him look up. Riley patted his head and then ruffled his hair like he did with her. "You can say it more."

"Not right now since she's gone," John said, "But thanks, kiddo."

"Don't be not nice anymore, and it'll be okay," Riley said, using her kid logic on him. If only it was that simple. She picked up her half of the granola bar and picked off a bit of it, popping it into her mouth. "Clarice is cool. I like her, so you should be nice to her."

"You're very right," John said, nodding, "I should be." And not just because Riley liked her.

"I hope she comes back soon," Riley said, "So Zingo won't be sad. And she can play with me more. And you can say you're sorry again."

John sighed. "Me too." And this time he'd get it right.


	8. Another Round of Being Broken

Disclaimer: I don't own The Gifted.

A/N: Oh my gooooosh, the last episode came for my feelings. Post S1E8.

* * *

 **Another Round of Being Broken**

John can still feel the grave on his hands.

He wipes his palms against his jeans again, brushing off dirt and blood that isn't there anymore. If he was a regular person, his hands would've been red and blistered from how many times he's washed them in scalding water. But he's not.

So they're not.

Sage is saying something about refugees and supplies and what's been going on since he left, but he isn't focusing on her. He's only been gone for a few hours. Feels like years. How has it only been a few hours?

His head is pounding, the leftovers of a migraine beating around his skull. Or maybe it's a whole new migraine. He rubs his thumb against his fist. His hands feel dirty.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sage asks, worry on her sharp features.

John shakes his head. No, he's not, but he can't talk about it, he doesn't want to, not yet. But he can't stay in the surveillance room right now, not with its constant hum of information, a reminder of all the work that needs to be done. There's a hard drive on the desk, one of the two that were stolen so they could get information on—

There's an unwelcome heat behind his eyes, and he can't do this right now. "I'm going outside."

"Oh-okay," Sage says, staring at him.

He dashes out, picking up speed and then forcing himself to slow down so it doesn't look like he's running. Because if John is running, people will get worried, wonder where he's going, what the emergency is. The emergency is simply that he can't do this in front of all these people, not when they're looking to him to be strong, to be stalwart and unbreakable.

They can't see that he's already broken.

That's a blessing he guesses as he hurries through the headquarters, keeping his head down. He doesn't want to get stopped. He catches a glimpse of purple-black hair and for a second he meets Clarice's brilliant green eyes. There's a question and concern there, but he looks away and moves on before she can get the chance to ask it. He slams out a door and onto the stairs that lead to the roof, the cold November breeze already snatching at him, tugging at his hair.

He follows its lead and yanks the band out of his hair, letting the dark strands fall. Both hands pressed against his face, he ignores the tightness in his chest and takes a deep breath. The cold, he needs the cold to chase away the heat in his eyes. He needs water to splash over his face.

He needs to stop replaying that scene in his head, the one that's set on repeat, over and over again.

Gus' eyes, tight with pain, tears in the corners, but clear of whatever they did to him for just a moment.

The rattle in Gus' lungs, his broken bones grinding, his heartbeat slowing.

John heard every beat until it stopped.

The smell of burned flesh, John can't get away from it, he's sure it's still in his hair even though he washed it. John shoves his hands back, pulling his hair, trying to get it away from his face again.

This is the second time he failed Gus, the second time he let him die. The second time all his strength was absolutely useless.

His hands are so dirty.

He closes his eyes, the scene starts again, and he snaps them open. Beyond the bank and its blackout curtains, there's a dark night sky full of pinprick stars, and John doesn't care. Being outside doesn't help anything this time, it just gives him somewhere to hide from the others.

He sits down hard on the roof, back pressed up against the low wall, knees to his chest. This isn't good. He should go find something to do. Stay busy. Sitting here isn't helping anything, and there's a lot that needs to be done.

He doesn't stand up. Instead, he lets his head fall forward into his hands and screws his eyes shut against the damned heat that won't go away.

There's someone on the stairs.

Quiet footsteps, hesitant, like she knows he wants to be alone. But she comes anyways, her converses making the ascent up to the roof. She walks over to him, picking her way through the debris, around the hole. John tenses. If he looks up right now… He's the one that takes care of people. Not the other way around. That's how his life works.

"I'd ask if you're hurt but, you're _you_ ," Clarice says, steeping toward him, "But what's going on? You look like you've been through hell, Proudstar."

He jerks his head up, looking at the opposite wall. Not at her. "I'm fine."

"Oh yeah, because you look fine."

Tentative fingers touch his hair, and he flinches away. He doesn't deserve to be touched, not like that, not when he let Gus die a second time.

"John?" His name is now a quiet exhaled question mark as she sits down beside him. He's rigid, at least until she presses her shoulder against his arm. "What is it?"

He glances over at her, just a quick look, and his eyes ache.

Clarice sucks in a breath, and then she's holding him, her face pressed against his neck.

She cups the back of his head and wraps her arms around him tight. And he's blinking but he can't hold everything back, and a few tears escape.

Her thumb brushes against his cheek and lingers there.

"I won't tell."

He pulls Clarice close and leans against her, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder.

Clarice doesn't know what's going on and she doesn't ask again, but she hugs him, comforting, kind.

John holds onto Clarice like she can put him back together. Like she can hold him together.

Maybe she can.


	9. Stand Up

Disclaimer: I don't own The Gifted!

A/N: Set after "Another Round of Being Broken." Post 1x08. Dialogue prompt fill for Tumblr: "You're a fool."

* * *

Stand Up  


Okay, this is getting to be a bit much. Clarice leans her chair back, nearly tipping it, so she can get a better look into John's office. He's standing in front of his desk, arms braced against the wood, his expression completely blank as he lets the man in front of him chew him out.

Yeah, sure, as a leader, John regularly dealt with criticism. Even when it was hurled at his face. But this? No one should have to stand there and take it when someone was insulting them up and down, over and over, for how they were running an overextended, overworked, packed-to-the-max safehouse when they were doing their best.

"This is the most incompetently run place I've ever been, do you know you have people sleeping on the floor…"

Clarice rolls her eyes. Of course John knows that. Where else were they supposed to sleep? Every bed was taken, every cot was already put out. She knows for a fact that they were planning on looking for more sleeping bags and blow-up mattresses, but going out for a supply run right now was risky. Still, John had mentioned going by himself.

She would've expected John to argue back by now, to stand up for himself, but he's just…taking it. Like he deserves it or something. Yeah, his arms are tense, but he doesn't look like he plans on stopping this guy any time soon.

"That safehouse at Senoia fell just a few days ago. How long before it's this one? What're you going to do about it?"

"We're doing everything we can," John says, his tone even but somehow lifeless. Ever since he came back from that trip with Reed, ever since Pulse died…John's been different. When he's working on a mission, he's driven and determined, almost to a scary degree, but outside of that, he's been distracted. Clarice is pretty certain he's grieving but doing his best not to let anyone know.

Such a John thing to do.

The mutant gets in John's face. "You're a fool if you think a cinderblock wall is going to stop Sentinel Services—"

"Hey!" Clarice is up and out of her chair before she even thinks about what she's doing. She darts through the office doorway and gets between John and the asshole, forcing him to move. "Back off."

"Who's this, your bodyguard?" the man asks, amused.

"Clarice, it's okay," John says, some spark coming back into his voice. He pushes away from his desk and reaches out, his hand landing on her arm. "I've got this."

"I could totally tell," Clarice replies, shaking him off. She doesn't want to undermine him, but she's not going to sit there while this jackass tells him off and John just doesn't do anything. She glares at the man, hoping he gets unnerved. "You've had your say, so now you can go back to enjoying all the protection this place is giving you."

"This place is a time bomb," he snaps, throwing out a cliché that's supposed to make them panic, "It's only a matter of time before Sentinel Services finds it."

"Then you're totally welcome to get the hell out," Clarice says, making a flippant gesture toward the door.

Finally, he takes the hint and goes before Clarice can make a portal and shove him through it. She's highly aware of John standing behind her, his sigh brushing the back of her neck he's so close.

"You didn't have to do that," he mumbles.

"You sure weren't going to do anything about it," Clarice says, turning around. Oh, wow, yeah, he's really close, her elbow almost pops him when she turns. But she doesn't move back. Instead, she tilts her head back to look him in the eyes, forcing him to look at her, too. "You shouldn't let him talk to you like that."

John nods, but it isn't a nod of agreement. It just means that he heard her. "Maybe he's right."

That startles her, and she stares at him, wondering where he's going with this. He sits down on the edge of his desk, his head hanging down, and she hates how he looks almost defeated. She stands in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Things might not be perfect around here, but we're doing everything we can to keep these people safe. And to help others." She pokes him in his big Hercules-esque arm. "So what, exactly, is he right about?"

"I don't know if it's enough. If _I'm_ doing enough." He shoves a hand back through his hair, and she notices that it's down, not up in a bun or a ponytail.

"You're trying," Clarice says. She hesitates, then puts her hand over his. "I don't think I've ever seen someone try as hard as you."

He glances up at her, his eyes not as dull as before. Maybe he doesn't totally feel the same way, but at least he listened to her. Sure, he screws up sometimes, but she's starting to think he's too hard on himself. Expects too much from himself.

She squeezes his arm. "I mean it."

"Clarice…"

There's a flurry of footsteps, and two kids come racing into the office, running around the desk and chasing one another, both of them yelling. It breaks the moment, and she steps back, giving them room to latch onto John's sides.

"Tell Ty to give Mr. Freckles back!" the girl demands, tugging on John's vest and pointing at the boy on John's other side. Her bright red eyes flash as she glares at the boy. "He stole him."

"I'm just borrowing him," the boy says, an action figure with only one arm clutched in his hand as he peeks out at the girl. "I'll give him back later."

"Now!"

Clarice's eyebrows raise as the two kids start to bicker, and she's glad Norah, who she's sort of taken under her wing, is quieter. "I think I'll leave this to you," she says, backing toward the door.

John gives her something that's almost a smile. "Thanks. For earlier."

She gives him a thumbs up and then darts out the door, making a face at herself. A thumbs up? Man, she's such a dork sometimes.


End file.
